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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554893">Confession</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeyye/pseuds/hawkeyye'>hawkeyye</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lovecraft Investigations</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, trauma mention</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:40:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,379</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeyye/pseuds/hawkeyye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kennedy Fisher was sure there were… several things wrong with what she was about to do. Seducing a priest - or father, or reverend or whatever - was pretty top of the list. Set somewhere in the middle of "The Whisperer in Darkness".</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Albert Wilmarth/Kennedy Fisher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Confession</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you sure you-”</p><p>“Shut up and get undressed, Albert.”</p><p>Kennedy was sure there were… <em>several </em>things wrong with what she was about to do. Seducing a priest - or father, or reverend or whatever - was pretty top of the list. Wasn’t there some kind of vow of chastity thing, or was that just Catholics? She wasn’t sure. But that was just the start of it. Flirting with an informant, Matthew’d probably roll his eyes at that; if he didn’t start lecturing her about the <em>last </em>time, that was, in his sweet - yet sometimes, claustrophobic - voice of concern. And then there was the communal wine they’d gotten into, first, and the fact that neither of them was, entirely, entirely sober. <em>Not to mention, </em>as she tried to think about it, <em>the fact that you still scream in your sleep, sometimes, and don</em><em>’t like it when people touch you.</em> But she <em>had </em>been drinking, and she <em>was </em>feeling lonely, and if for just one night, all of the trauma and PTSD and creepy tentacled bullshit was going to let her turn her mind off for an hour or two and get a good lay, then she was determined to make the most of it.</p><p>There had been no touching, yet. Just drinking, winking and talking. Wilmarth had offered to let her stay the night at the vicarage so that she didn’t need to drive back down to London in the wee hours of the morning, and considering the whole thing with Parker and the owls, it had seemed like a reasonably good idea to Kennedy. And of course, it would have been rude just to crash on his couch without saying <em>something</em>, especially if it meant he have to be exiled from his own living room until she got up at eight am sharp (she had already been taught how to use the Keurig, in case she needed coffee and he was busy with his flock). The talking had started out the normal stuff; in so much that anything had been normal, since Allen and Sayers. <em>Which was</em>, Kennedy couldn’t help but think to herself, <em>about as fucking far from normal as normal could possibly be. </em>Somewhere down the line, it had gotten onto the topic of if there was a Mrs Albert Wilmarth - which there was not - or a Mr Kennedy Fisher - which there <em>also </em>was not. An unspoken truce to stop talking about weird dogs or number stations or the Necronomicon or all of that shit.</p><p>And now, they were getting undressed.</p><p>He was cute, when he blushed, Kennedy decided. A little older than her, sure, but that had never really mattered. The blush started at his ears, spread across his face and she was itching to know if it went any further. Itching to get going, before she talked herself out of this, or got triggered by some stupid bullshit.</p><p>She hadn’t been with anybody, not since… since the librarian. Since <em>him. </em></p><p>“What about Matthew?”</p><p>“Matt?” Kennedy couldn’t help but laugh, scrunching up her nose in confusion. “Matt’s just a friend, Albert. I don’t want to talk about Matt, right now,” she added, kicking off another of her shoes, hands hesitating on the buttons of her jeans. “I’m more interested in seeing what you’ve got under the cassock.”</p><p>“It’s not… <em>really </em>a cassock,” stammered Albert, touching his collar self-consciously. “Vestments, I think we’re meant to call them, these days.”</p><p>Kennedy chuckled. “I’ve never been religious, Albert. Is that going to be a problem?”</p><p>She let her trousers drop from her hand, a little bit of bare skin on her hip catching Albert’s eyes, and he blushed even more as he shook his head.</p><p>“Not if you confess in the morning.”</p><p>“Seriously?”</p><p>This time, the father laughed; a pleasant, charming sound that definitely made Kennedy want to hear him laugh again. “Not unless you want to. We don’t… really go for that, in the Anglican church.”</p><p>“Good,” nodded Kennedy, sitting down on the edge of the bed and tugging her jeans off all the way as Albert pulled his not-a-cassock over his head. “’Cause I never really felt like confessing after a good lay.”</p><p>They stopped talking, after that; each of them seemingly in more of a hurry than the other to strip their clothes off. Kennedy just wanted to stop <em>thinking</em>, and Albert certainly seemed to be enjoying the view, from the tent in his briefs. Kennedy reached out automatically - more than capable of pleasing a lover, and making somebody squirm under her hand - before flinching. Flashes of what had happened in America passed through her mind, and she turned away to focus on the clasp of her bra and hoped that Albert hadn’t noticed either the hesitation, or the expression in her face. <em>Fucking stop it, Kennedy</em>, she coached herself, putting the images to the back of her mind. <em>You want him, he wants you, it</em><em>’s just a fling. Nobody is going to hurt you.</em></p><p>She hadn’t been with anyone; not since then. In fact, outside of research, she’d barely spent time with <em>anybody </em>since returning from Iraq, other than Matthew. <em>Who I also don</em><em>’t want to think about, right now. </em>It was easier to be normal when somebody wasn’t expecting to be normal. And the nice thing about Albert was that he didn’t seem to expect her to be… to be anything. To Albert Wilmarth, she was an investigator on a podcast, who happened to have sought him out to talk about somebody that he sort of knew and was hanging around the area because each new answer brought up a hundred and one new questions. Once they had a wrap on this one - ‘The Whisperer in Darkness’, Matt was calling it - then she’d be out of his hair and out of his life forever, and if all that Albert ever remembered for was a good fuck, then at least there’d be <em>that</em>. And that was good. Because so long as he didn’t expect her to keep in touch, or do the pillow-talk shit or anything like that, then she’d be able to stop thinking about the past and focus on the now, instead.</p><p>Kennedy pushed Albert to the bed, both hands on his chest, before he had time to take his briefs off. He let out a gasp - breath, or surprise, she wasn’t sure - and looked up at her with those wide, doe-eyes of his and Kennedy couldn’t help but smirk. She sat on his lap, wishing she’d worn something other than her old knickers that morning, and relished the feeling of being in control, again. Of pulling the strings. Albert reached out a hand to take her shoulder, responding exactly the way that she’d expected him to - <em>play the game, Albert, play the game the way it</em><em>’s meant to be played - </em>and Kennedy pressed her breasts up against his torso, knotted her hands in his curls and seized his whole mouth with a hungry, desperate kiss. Lost in the feelings, she could pretend that nobody was touching her. On top, she could say when and where and what he did, and so long as he was happy, she was happy. And gods, but was she ready to get laid. Fucked out of her mind. To ride someone so hard that she passed out afterward and didn’t dream, for a night.</p><p>If there’d been any pause before, Albert was certainly taking hints by the time that they broke apart, each of them heaving as they came up for air. Catching his eye - <em>just checking he</em><em>’s fine, just checking he’s not </em>him - Kennedy waited for a small nod from the father before slipping her hand past the elastic of his briefs and taking him in her hand. She held him tight, just enough for him to feel it, slicking pre-cum over the head of his cock with her thumb as Albert tipped back his head with a <em>very </em>un-priestly moan. Kennedy grinned, licking her lips and stealing another kiss as Albert closed his eyes. She pressed her cheek against his - <em>still in control, still your choice</em> - and her mouth against his ear, murmuring seductively.</p><p>“Feel good…?”</p><p>“Mm…”</p><p>She chuckled, nuzzling his neck. “Just ‘mmm’? I can stop-”</p><p>“No!” Albert took the back of her hand in his, squeezing, and if Kennedy faltered for just a moment, then neither of them noticed. She tightened her grip and kept her hand moving, stroking up and down just enough to keep him on edge, her thighs clenched tight around his. <em>In control, Kennedy.</em> “<em>Please</em><em>…</em>”</p><p>They toppled to the bed, Albert bucking his hips against hers. Kennedy silenced him once again with a kiss, putting his hands on her knickers, letting him pull them down and put his fingers against her folds. She bit his lip, riding through the sensation, almost forgotten, surprised that a man of the cloth would know how to do <em>that </em>with just his fingers, and lifted her hips to give him better access as her own hand slipped away from him. She pinned him against the bed, feeling his heat still pressed into her inner thigh, both them on the edge of needing to go further, <em>right now, </em>so help her. Kennedy swore, her other hand bunching up the sheets around them, making a god-awful mess of the bed before they’d even really got going and just for a second, Albert stopped what he was doing and she almost swore, louder.</p><p>“Are you-?”</p><p>Touched by his concern but eager for more Kennedy could only nod, reluctantly lifting herself from his hand to move just enough to free his cock and watch it bob and rise. Gripping it again - this time watching his eyes damn-near roll into the back of his head - she moved to guide him inside of her by way of answer, easing onto him a little quicker than she had meant to. They both hissed, but Kennedy started rolling her hips as she grew accustomed to his girth, clenching down on him, already slick and wet. Needy, and warm. Albert dropped his head into the sheets, his hips moving in time with hers, his words dying on his lips as he bit down so hard that he drew blood. At one point as they both thrust and groaned, murmuring nothing in particular, Albert almost slipped out of her and Kennedy could practically have cried as the head of his cock brushed against her lips <em>just right there </em>and she saw light in front of her eyes. But they didn’t break apart, both of them moving in a messy, clumsy rhythm of legs, wandering hands and Kennedy placing Albert’s hands <em>there, right there </em>as he circled her clit and brought her so, so close to the edge.</p><p>Kennedy held onto Albert tightly, arching her back as she picked up speed, riding and rutting against him as he drove deeper into her with every movement. She felt so full, high as <em>fucking </em>kite, every inch of her on fire with sensations she’d denied herself all this time as they both struggled to tell where one of them ended and the other began. Kennedy sat up, gripping Albert’s free hand in her own and pinning it to the bed as she squirmed, her other hand playing with her chest, holding on for dear life as she kneaded the skin and lost herself. Albert kept glancing up at her, panting hard, making sure that he wasn’t going too far - <em>fuck, </em>fuck<em>, he could go so much farther and I wouldn</em><em>’t fucking stop him - </em>and every time that their eyes met Kennedy felt as though her arousal spiked higher and higher until she was barely sure that she could hold on a second longer.</p><p>Eventually neither of them made a sound but for flesh hitting flesh and heavy breathing as they bucked and ground until Albert, after what seemed like seconds and hours all at once, finally broke.</p><p>“Kennedy… I can’t-”</p><p>“Me neither-”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>.”</p><p>Albert’s hips left the mattress as he lifted Kennedy up, grabbing onto her hips for balance as he came, hard. A second later - <em>ignore his hands, </em>god <em>I</em><em>’m so ready </em>- Kennedy gripped him like a vice and joined him. She fell to the mattress, curled around him, arms rigid as she struggled to stay upright and their foreheads pressed together, sweat-soaked and quivering, as she rode an orgasm that was months coming and <em>far </em>better than she had ever expected. Her eyes closed and skin-to-skin, face-to-face, every part of them entangled they both slowly, finally, began to stop moving and slid unceremoniously on top of the sheets and their own discarded clothes as Albert grew soft inside of her, still gently moving. Kennedy - too oversensitive after cumming - just held onto him and didn’t dare move, a giddy smile on her face as she dragged herself back to her senses and pressed a quick, wet kiss to Albert’s forehead.</p><p>Eventually, when they were able to breathe again, they fell apart; and after a moment’s hesitation, Kennedy accepted Albert’s outstretched arm and nestled in against his soaked chest, face buried in the light curls of hair there. She traced up and down them with one hand, her lower half completely made of jelly, with no idea what to say. Stifling an exhausted yawn - <em>just as well-fucked as you wanted then, Kennedy </em>- she rested her head under Albert’s chin and mumbled quietly into his chest. He tilted his head back and to one side, his brow knotting into a confused frown despite the dopey, deluged smile on his face.</p><p>“…what was that?”</p><p>“We just fucked, Albert,” mumbled Kennedy, tiredly. She poked him in the side. “Are you always so polite?”</p><p>“Hmm,” he snorted, laughing pleasantly. He was quiet again for a second and then pushed himself up on one elbow, looking her in the eye. “Seriously, though. What did you say?”</p><p>Kennedy watched him for a long time, chewing on her lip. Finally she gave him one last kiss and pulled a pillow down towards them both, nestling in to sleep.</p><p>“Thank you, Albert.”</p><p>As she drifted off to sleep without any thoughts left in her head, she felt Albert gently rub her shoulders and whisper a response.</p><p>“Any time…”</p>
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